The Importance of Being Evil
by Cebera
Summary: Saruman is a wizard with a problem. He wants to become evil, but he isn't very good at it. So he seeks help from Sauron. Chapter Nine now up at last.
1. Saruman's Problem

Hello! I'm pretty new here, and this is my first fanfiction. Please read it and tell me what you think. I will carry on with it if I get positive reviews.  
  
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The Importance of Being Evil  
  
In a tower in Middle-Earth there lived a wizard. Not a watch tower, nor yet a spiked and evil-looking tower such as one might find in the darkest depths of Mordor. This was a wizard tower, and that means piles of teetering, ancient books, many magical looking (and probably quite useless) items, including a crystal ball-like object and a piece of bent wood, and also a terrible amount of rubbish on the floor. (Wizards are notorious for being awful at clearing up).  
  
The wizard who lived in this particular tower was called Saruman, and he had a problem, which was this: Saruman desperately wanted to be evil. All the cool people who had books written about them were evil; the goody- goodies didn't get a look in. Saruman, for the last two millennia or so, had had his heart set on becoming evil. And he wasn't. Not even a little bit.  
  
He didn't know what he was doing wrong. He'd tried so hard. He'd read books, done experiments, even been to evening classes. He had attempted to raise an army of orcs, but they had spent most of the time getting drunk and, if the truth be told, he had been rather scared of them anyway. Once he had taken a hostage, whom he had cleverly and evilly imprisoned on the top of his tower. The hostage had been another wizard (Gandalf was his name), and he had escaped by flinging himself of the top of Saruman's tower onto the back of a passing eagle. Saruman was of the opinion that this sort of behaviour was cheating and hadn't talked to Gandalf for months afterwards.  
  
All of his spells went wrong; all the evil ones, anyway. When he tried to set things on fire, they invariably turned a rather nice shade of pale blue instead. When he tried to turn people into frogs or toads, the spells rebounded and often turned him into a frog or a toad instead (on one unpleasant occasion he had spent three weeks hopping round his front garden before he was found by Radagast the Brown and turned back.) And the last time he had tried to summon an avalanche to bury a party of travellers who were walking up a mountain he had only succeeded in showering them with icing sugar.  
  
One evening Saruman was sitting by the fire, amid the mess, and reading a book ('The Importance of Being Evil' by M. Melkor), when his telephone rang. He picked it up.  
  
"Saruman of many colours, your resident evil wizard, speaking."  
  
"Hello Saruman, this is Gandalf. Your not still pretending to be evil, are you?"  
  
"What do you mean, pretending? There will come a time when all the peoples of Middle Earth will fall down before me, and worship me, the unquestionable lord and master of..."  
  
"Yeah, whatever. Look, I'm going to be in the area tomorrow and I was thinking of popping over for some tea. Is that alright with you?"  
  
"I thought you were still a bit upset after..."  
  
"After all that business with you taking me hostage, and my escaping by an ingenious feat of cool logic and quick thinking, plus my inexplicable ability to communicate with moths?"  
  
"Yes, that," replied Saruman coldly. The memory was still painful.  
  
"Well, you needn't worry about that. It's all in the past."  
  
"Very well, Gandalf, what time can I expect you?"  
  
"Around 4-ish?"  
  
"See you then."  
  
  
  
At 4 o' clock the next day Saruman's doorbell rang. He let Gandalf in.  
  
"Greetings, Saruman!" said Gandalf, "Why on Middle-Earth have you tie-dyed your robes?"  
  
"They're not tie-dyed!" replied Saruman angrily. "Only the very evil beings wear robes like this. They have been specially designed to inspire terror."  
  
"Well, they certainly scared me."  
  
Gandalf followed Saruman through the hall into the sitting-room, where Saruman cut him a slice of cake, and poured out some tea. They sat down.  
  
"So, Gandalf," said Saruman, "What have you been doing with yourself lately?"  
  
"Well, you know..." answered Gandalf, "Not a lot, really. Spending a lot of time in the Shire, which is very nice. Going on a quest here, saving the world there, and occasionally battling fiery sword-wielding winged demons of the underworld. But only in my spare time. What about you?"  
  
"I have been formulating my evil schemes, of course."  
  
"Which are...?"  
  
"I haven't really got round to the details yet. I've been a bit busy with my charity work."  
  
Gandalf sighed and shook his head.  
  
"You don't have the foggiest idea about being evil, do you?" he said, irritated, "Even I know more about it than you do, and I am, by appointment of the Valar, one of the least evil beings in the history of Middle-Earth."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Evil wizards do not do charity work. They do not go around in lilac and orange striped robes, they do not have people dropping in for tea, and they most certainly do not have daffodils and tulips growing around their towers." Gandalf gestured out of the window at Saruman's front garden, where brightly coloured beds of flowers were growing. There was also an ornamental pond surrounded by several garden gnomes.  
  
"Oh, okay then, if you're so knowledgeable about evilness, you can teach me," said Saruman moodily.  
  
"I'm not going to teach you myself - but I can give you the number of someone who will. I've got it here somewhere..." Gandalf reached into his pocket and took out a handful of business cards. He leafed through them. "Galadriel's clairvoyance lessons...that's not it...Legolas' archery class...that's not it either...what's this? Oh, Tom Bombadil and Goldberry giving a joint seminar on how to get left out of major epic films - must get to that. Now what was I doing again? Ah, yes, I remember. Oh, here it is." He passed a small flame-red card over to Saruman, who read:  
  
"Tired of your high reputation? Want to get a place in the history books? Then call Sauron, on 0800-666-EVIL and sign up for his acclaimed, patented courses in losing your status as a do-gooder. All races accepted: Elves, Dwarves, Men, Orcs, Ents, Hobbits, even Ainur. Address: The Dark Tower, Barad-Dur, Mordor." Saruman looked up. "Well, maybe I'll try this, then," he said to Gandalf, "This Sauron - I haven't come across him before - has he a reputation for evilness?"  
  
"Oh yes. In fact, he is singularly responsible for almost all of the things that have gone wrong in Middle-Earth over the past two ages."  
  
"Then he definitely sounds like the sort of person that I want to learn how to be evil from. I'll give him a ring." 


	2. A Journey into Mordor

Woohoo! A second chapter! Thank you everyone for the nice reviews. I also just realized that I forgot a disclaimer last chapter, so here goes:  
  
Disclaimer: Much as I wish that I had created Middle-Earth, and all the characters that inhabit it, I unfortunately didn't. J.R.R Tolkien did. He is most probably spinning in his grave right now.  
  
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Saruman rang Sauron the next day. Sauron was very pleased, and told him to come over to Barad-Dur as soon as he could. Then another problem presented itself: how should he get there?  
  
Saruman had never ridden a horse; he had had no need up until now, and no desire to either. He possessed neither a magic flying broomstick, nor a matter transference beam. The thought of walking quite frankly sickened him. For several days, he thought. Then an idea struck him. He would get an eagle to fly him there.  
  
Picking up a large copy of the Middle-Earth yellow pages, he flipped through it until he came to "Middle-Earth's only form of public transport: The Eagle Taxi!"  
  
"Our prices are quite extortionately high," he read out loud, "but since there's no competition that doesn't worry us in the slightest. To have an eagle fly you to the location of your choice, phone Gwaihir on 0800-958- 181." Saruman, who hadn't done any sort of paid work in three centuries, doubted that he could afford the prices asked by the eagles, but decided he'd worry about that later.  
  
He dialled the number. Presently, an irritable, squawking voice answered:  
  
"Gwaihir speaking. Who's that? What do you want?"  
  
"Um, hello, yes, this is Saruman the White (well, orange and lilac, actually) speaking. I'd like an eagle to fly me somewhere."  
  
"Well, were d'ya want to go?"  
  
"Mordor, if that's okay."  
  
"Mordor! There's no way your getting me to go to Mordor! Load of crazy orcs shooting arrows and throwing stones. Making a game of it: Fifty points if you can hit his head! Ha! I ain't going. I'll send my brother Landroval."  
  
"Oh, thank you so much. How much will that be?"  
  
"Er...let me see now. That seems to work out at about one thousand three hundred and forty-two Middle-Earth dollars."  
  
"What! That's ridiculous!"  
  
"I know, buddy, but what you gonna do? You're an Istari. You don't like riding horses, in case you get hurt. You absolutely refuse to walk in case you get your robes dirty or break a nail. And there's no other possible way of getting there."  
  
"Oh, I guess you're right. Okay, I accept. I just have one question."  
  
"Which is...?"  
  
"In the War of the Ring, why the hell didn't Elrond and Gandalf and the rest just get one of your eagles to fly the Ring to Mount Doom and drop it in? It would have saved them a lot of time, effort and death."  
  
"Oh, they were going to all right, but they pulled out in the end. Those Elves are a tight-fisted lot. They decided that they weren't prepared to spend that amount of money on safeguarding the future of the free peoples of Middle-Earth. They told me that they'd rather do it themselves, thank you very much. Look where it landed them. I'll send Landroval over to get you as soon as he comes back from Lorien."  
  
The following evening Saruman was studying the crossword in the paper. He was completely stuck on thirteen down, when there was a squawk, then a loud thud against the window, then nothing. Saruman climbed down the stairs, went out of his tower, and peered around. He could see nothing, because it was pitch black, and he had never mastered the art of making the top of his staff glow (even though this is probably the most simple thing anyone could conceivably do with a staff). He stumbled around blindly in the dark for a while. Then he tripped over a large feathery object lying on the ground. He fell flat on his face and got tangled up in his robes. The large feathery object said crossly:  
  
"For Eru's sake, watch what you're doing, you clumsy great wizard!"  
  
"I'm very sorry," stuttered Saruman. "I didn't see you."  
  
"That," replied the object, "was obvious."  
  
"Would I be right in assuming that you are the eagle Landroval?"  
  
"You sure would. I expect that you are the wizard Saruman the Orange and Lilac, and that you'd like me to fly you to Mordor. Quite an unusual holiday destination for an Istari like yourself, is it not? All fiery mountains and rocks and orcs and generally no fun. Not my idea of fun, anyway."  
  
"Well, I wouldn't normally go within a fifty mile radius of the place, but there's this guy who lives there called Sauron - heard of him? Anyway, he's going to give me lessons in being evil.You see, it's mey greatest ambition."  
  
"That's a strange vocation, isn't it? Come on, enough talk, jump aboard, and don't forget your credit card."  
  
Saruman got onto the eagle's back. Landroval spread his wings, rose majestically into the air, and narrowly avoided being impaled on one of the sharper bits of the tower of Orthanc.  
  
Saruman soon became aware that Landroval was very, if not completely blind. For the first twenty minutes or so, they flew in entirely the wrong direction. When Saruman tentatively commented on this, Landroval performed a complete 'loop-the-loop' in the air and sped off haphazardly in the general direction of Mordor. They skimmed trees, were shot at by the people of Dale, almost crash-landed in a lake.  
  
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Saruman yelled above the noise of the wind.  
  
"You what?" squawked back Landroval.  
  
"I said 'are you....' WATCH OUT FOR THAT MOUNTAIN!!!"  
  
For Landroval had almost flown straight into Mount Doom.  
  
They had arrived at last. Saruman, shaking with the terror of the ride, gave the four-figure sum to Landroval without much protest, and, still quaking, walked up the hill towards Barad-Dur, which was looking like everyone's idea of what a hideously evil city should. 


	3. Saruman's first lesson

Wow, a delay of less than a day between chapters. I must be getting better at this. Reviews very much encouraged, tell me what you think. Chapter four tomorrow if I get round to it.  
  
Disclaimer: As I said before, Middle-Earth and its inhabitants do not belong to me. I did not create them. Tolkien did. And that strange noise you can hear is the combined sound of him and Oscar Wilde spinning in their graves.  
  
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Saruman had entered the city, and was looking around, wondering where on earth he should go. He went into an orc-run shop, but his request to buy a street map of Barad-Dur was greeted with derision, so he decided just to make for the most prominent landmark: the large, black and red painted tower which was looming ominously in the distance.  
  
He made his way nervously through the narrow streets. There were orcs everywhere; orcs lying drunk in the gutter, orcs conversing in the tongue of Mordor in loud, raucous voices. There were also orcs trying to sell him sandwiches filled with parts of the anatomy of other creatures which Saruman just did not want to know about. He tried to decline their offers and get away, but they drew knives and advanced on him, so Saruman gave them the remainder of his money, which seemed to satisfy them. He got out of there as quickly as he could.  
  
As Saruman drew nearer to the tower it occurred to him that he had never seen anything loom quite so ominously as this particular tower. He wondered if he could get something similar done to his own tower, but then he remembered that he didn't have any money left. Anyway, he though, maybe ominous looming was just a side affect of being evil, and once he had attained the necessary level of evilness, his tower would start to do it of his own accord.  
  
The doors of the tower were locked, but on them was a note saying, "Just popped out for a baguette, back in five minutes, sorry for any inconvenience. Sauron." Saruman sat down on the ground to wait. He had only been there for a couple of minutes when a voice said,  
  
"Greetings, Saruman."  
  
This caused Saruman to nearly jump out of his skin. He leapt to his feet and looked left, right, up down, forwards, backwards and finally left again, because in the midst of the whole ridiculous sequence he had forgotten where he had started. Finally he just backed up against the wall, looking terrified.  
  
"Don't be alarmed, Saruman, this is Sauron speaking. I'm afraid you won't see me by looking around," said the voice, then continued sadly, "I'm afraid I've been a bit...well, a bit disembodied since all that nasty business with the ring."  
  
"I'm very sorry," said Saruman, "but you startled me rather a..." Sauron interrupted him.  
  
"Number one rule of evilness: never, under any circumstances, apologise for anything."  
  
"I'm sorry," said Saruman hastily.  
  
This, thought Sauron, may take some time.  
  
Saruman climbed up a flight of steps into a large hall, where he assumed Sauron had gone. Sauron's voice called from a pair of chairs, which were positioned in the centre of this hall. The ceiling was very high, and painted black, so any observer would not be able to distinguish between it and the night sky. Either that or the orc builders just hadn't bothered to put a roof on the tower at all. Saruman sat down in one of the chairs, and said:  
  
"Right, first and foremost, prices. My rates are thirty dollars an hour, which I think you'll agree is reasonable, considering my status in the league tables of evilness. Since the average course is a week of six-hour days, that comes to...just a second, I'm hopeless at mental arithmetic. Oh drat, how am I supposed to operate a calculator without a body?"  
  
Saruman frowned for a moment, then said, "That's one-thousand two-hundred and sixty dollars." (Back in the Istar Academy, mental arithmetic had been Saruman's only strong point). He sighed, and said, "I just cannot afford that. I suppose I'd better just go home again."  
  
"Hey, wait a minute," said Sauron, "I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. How about this: when I have taught you how to be evil, for free, you will go off and use your new found abilities to raise an army, plunder villages and create a kingdom for yourself. And you will give me half of it. Sound fair to you?"  
  
"It's a deal," said Saruman, and stuck out his hand to shake Sauron's. He then suddenly remembered that Sauron did not have a hand, and quickly turned the gesture into straightening his hat, in case the Dark Lord saw and took offence.  
  
"Okay, good. We'll start tomorrow. Go and check yourself into a hotel somewhere nearby, and come back at nine o' clock sharp."  
  
Saruman left, and found a hotel with some free rooms. He passed a very uncomfortable night there. Apparently the person who had furnished the room had never heard of beds, because there wasn't one. When he complained to the management, he found that none of them spoke Westron and he could not get his meaning across (not even by pretending to be a bed in the middle of the hotel's lobby). He retired to his bare room, and slept on the floor. In the morning he discovered that the bath must be a purely decorative feature of the bathroom, because he couldn't get it to work. He also did not touch the breakfast that he was provided with, due to an inability to tell what it was. He arrived back at the tower bang on time, and made his way into the hall.  
  
On entering the hall, he saw a single desk and chair in the middle of it, with a blackboard a few feet in front. He sat down at the desk and waited. Then Sauron spoke, and Saruman went through the same screaming-and- looking-wildly-around routine as he had yesterday, until he regained his composure and apologised.  
  
"Remember, don't apologise," said Sauron. Saruman said he was sorry, and that he wouldn't do it again, and Sauron told him not to. Then Saruman said he was sorry, and Sauron...well, you probably get the general idea. They went on in this way, sounding rather like a stuck LP for several minutes, until Saruman finally got the idea and shut up. Sauron drew a deep breath and counted to ten, with his non-existent eyes shut. After he had done this, he trusted himself to speak without yelling at Saruman out of sheer exasperation.  
  
"Right, Saruman, first things first, your clothes. Now, don't ask me why, but evil people almost never wear orange and lilac. They where a good deal of armour, and also black robes, normally with a big spiky helmet."  
  
"Oh, but I like these clothes," whined Saruman.  
  
"Tough. You have to make some sacrifices. No-one will take you seriously looking like that. Secondly, you need a nice, terror-inspiring catchphrase. I think I know just the thing. Repeat after me: SURRENDER or DIE!"  
  
"Durrender or sie!"  
  
"No, no, like this: SURRENDER OR DIE!"  
  
"S-s-surrender or die?"  
  
"Say it like you mean it!"  
  
"Surrender or- no, I'm sorry, what was that last word?"  
  
"Die!"  
  
"Well, if that's what you want, I'll just go away and die in a corner..."  
  
Had Sauron had hair, he would have been tearing it out around now. 


	4. More lessons and an exam

Sorry about the delay between chapters. Once again please read and review, love hearing what you think.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing of this. You think I'd be writing it if I did?  
  
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Saruman did not make quick progress. He was, as Sauron told him angrily at least six times a day, simply far too nice. Saruman had great difficulty in grasping the concept that being evil actually meant being unkind to people. He could not understand that it wasn't enough to say that you were evil and then not do anything about it: you had to go around terrorising, monopolising, and generally being unpleasant.  
  
Sauron did not like Saruman. It was not that he was a dislikeable person; in fact, it was because he was a fundamentally likeable person that Sauron disliked him. Nice, honest people who had no ability to do wrong had been Sauron's downfall time and time again, and he was rather bitter about this, to put it mildly. Also, in his youth, Sauron had wanted desperately to be good. He had tried very hard, even gone to classes with the most highly reputed of the Valar, but he had developed much the same block about being good as Saruman now had about being evil.  
  
On Saruman's third day, Sauron was reasoning with Saruman:  
  
"Saruman," he pleaded, "You cannot possibly go around saying you're evil if you then help old ladies across the road, work for "Save the Elves" and stubbornly refuse to attack, kill or even threaten anyone..."  
  
"I'm a pacifist."  
  
"..and you can't even do the evil laugh properly - go on, do it now!"  
  
Saruman looked unsure. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Mwah-ha-ha-ha-hee?" he said hopefully. Sauron rolled his eyes, or would have done had he had any.  
  
"No, no, like this: MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Saruman jumped backwards, terrified.  
  
"Please don't do that. My nerves really can't take it." he whimpered.  
  
"Oh, for Morgoth's sake...look, we'll move onto something else. Go away for the night, and come back tomorrow. Get a good night's sleep, you may need it."  
  
Saruman had been going to explain that this was difficult if one did not have a bed, but something in the Dark Lord's voice prevented him.  
  
The following day, Saruman was led by Sauron out of the tower, and round a corner to a small paddock, in the corner of which were standing...  
  
"Horses..." said Saruman, going pale.  
  
"Yes, horses. All evil people ride horses, black ones, generally. It inspires terror and awe. Now, go and stand by that one over there."  
  
Saruman swallowed. "I don't...like...horses," he said, resisting the urge to run away screaming his head off. Sauron sighed.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," he said, "It's stupid to be afraid of horses. They're quite safe."  
  
"What about those that the Nazgul rode?"  
  
"They were an exception. Now go over there and pat that grey one's nose."  
  
"Does it bite."  
  
"No, of course not."  
  
Saruman, summoning all his courage (which would barely have filled a teacup), walked over to the horses. Closing his eyes, he held out a hand to the horse. The horse eyed the hand suspiciously for a minute. Going by the principle of "Fear the unknown," the it closed its teeth round Saruman's hand. Saruman screamed, breaking several nearby windows. He then ran around in circles, yelling all the while. Sauron stood back patiently, waiting for Saruman to get a grip.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he was still waiting. At last, he got fed up.  
  
"Saruman!" he yelled, "Pull yourself together! You're a wizard, not a child."  
  
"I thought you said it didn't bite!" said Saruman miserably.  
  
"I lied. Now go and try again."  
  
Saruman, however, had had enough and fled back to his hotel.  
  
The next day, Saruman was presented with a large, deadly-looking sword by Sauron. However, he refused to kill anything at all with it, saying that it went against his principles. Sauron told Saruman that he was a hopeless case, and that he might as well go home because he was no more evil than he had been when he had first arrived. Saruman then started crying, and Sauron repented a bit, but only because he wanted the half of Saruman's kingdom which he was owed. He knew that Saruman's obtaining of that kingdom was looking increasingly unlikely. He therefore said,  
  
"Look, Saruman, stop that noise. What I'm going to do is this: Tomorrow I will set you a written exam paper. When you've passed that, I'll give you some instructions and you can go away and start creating a kingdom for yourself (bearing in mind that half of that kingdom will rightfully be mine)."  
  
"What will be on the exam?" asked Saruman, sniffing.  
  
"Everything we've done so far."  
  
"Even horses?"  
  
"Yes, even horses. It will be a multiple choice paper. Starting at eight tomorrow morning."  
  
The next morning Saruman sat the exam. He did abysmally. Below is his exam paper.  
  
SAURON'S EVILNESS COURSES: FOUNDATION END OF COURSE EXAM  
  
NAME: Saruman the White (crossed out). Saruman the Orange and Lilac (crossed out). Saruman the Evil.  
  
RACE: Istari  
  
AGE: Lost count many centuries ago.  
  
EXAM RULES: Candidates should answer all questions. Candidates should chose one answer only for each question. Candidates who cheat will receive extra marks, as will candidates who bring mobile phones into the exam, since these actions are sure signs of an evil mind. Candidates should not attempt to write on both sides of the paper at once.  
  
1) Are you evil or not?  
  
A. Yes  
  
B. No  
  
ANSWER. A.  
  
2) Which two of the following would be done by an evil being?  
  
A. Flower arranging.  
  
B. Killing people.  
  
C. Forging the One Ring.  
  
D. Baking cakes.  
  
E. Donating money to "The National Elf Service".  
  
ANSWER. A & E.  
  
3) What is an evil being expected to wear?  
  
A. Nothing.  
  
B. Anything at all as long as it's pink.  
  
C. A kilt.  
  
D. Black robes or armour, and a spiky helmet.  
  
ANSWER. B  
  
4) What would you do if you owned the One Ring?  
  
A. Throw it into Orodruin.  
  
B. Use it to take over Middle-Earth.  
  
ANSWER. A (here Saruman had written "Those rings cause nothing but trouble."  
  
5) What is your preferred method of transport?  
  
A. Horse.  
  
B. Feet.  
  
C. Eagle.  
  
D. Moped.  
  
E. London buses.  
  
ANSWER. D  
  
6) Which catch phrase is most befitting of an evil being?  
  
A. D'oh!  
  
B. Surrender or Die!  
  
C. I didn't do it!  
  
D. You are the weakest link...goodbye.  
  
ANSWER. C  
  
7) Complete the maniacal laughter: MWAHAHAHAHA--  
  
A. HA!  
  
B. HO?  
  
C. (HEE)  
  
ANSWER. B  
  
---END---  
  
MARK=12.5%  
  
EXAMINERS COMMENT: You did terribly, but I'm going to send you out to form your own kingdom in the (probably futile) hope that you'll be better at the practical than you were at the theory. You can go to the Shire. It's full of creatures that are only three foot six. Should be a pushover. Come back to me when you've conquered it. 


	5. The Shire

Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up! This'll probably be the last one for a while now, since I'm going away for a week. Thanks to Kitty-Chan, little-bit-odd, Herodias, Darth Maligna, Mainecoon, Aeris, Riah-Chan, Snowling, Dark Ravenette, Kim, Mercuria, Eri, elf-fairygirl1224 and Butterfly for reviewing.  
  
I'm writing this as I think of it, I have absolutely no idea where the story's going to go next so any suggestions welcome. Thanks!  
  
----  
  
Saruman miserably realised that he didn't have much choice expect to go to the Shire and do his best to take it over, even though he wasn't keen on the idea. He had never been much of a person for responsibility and he knew that he wasn't going to be good at it at all. But all the same he went round the shops of Barad-Dur finding the things he would need.  
  
He couldn't find any black robes, but he did find a shop selling Hallowe'en costumes from which he bought a rather nice witch's cloak and hat. There were no swords to be had for love nor money so he had to make do with a water-pistol. The nearest thing in Barad-Dur to a black horse was a white pony, but he bought that too, along with some black paint.  
  
The next day Saruman tried to paint his pony black. It was not particularly pleased at this treatment and promptly bit him, causing him to scream so loudly that everyone in a seventy metre vicinity had a splitting headache for several days afterwards. Several times he attempted to catch the pony and paint it, but each time it resisted. Finally, he came up with the idea of filling the water-pistol with black paint and squirting it at the pony. This worked rather better, although the pony did bear an unfortunate resemblance to a zebra. This didn't really matter, however, because nobody in Middle-earth had ever even heard of a zebra.  
  
Once the paint had dried, Saruman set off for the Shire. He journeyed ceaselessly for what seemed like years, realised he had been going round in circles because he had forgotten to untie the pony before he left, untied the pony and started from the beginning. This time the journey seemed less long, and after a mere four months of getting lost, threatened, mocked, injured, humiliated and, on several occasions, nearly eaten, Saruman arrived, bedraggled, exhausted, and rather insane, in the Shire.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Frodo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire, was disturbed from the reading of his book by a wizard falling off a horse. He had had to look closely to tell that it was a wizard, because it was wearing a very tattered black cloak, and a pointed black hat, which was fringed with a quantity of what was apparently luminous green hair. For a few moment Frodo wondered who it was. Then he realised that could only be one person: Saruman. Gandalf had often spoken with scorn of the incompetent, and mentally deranged head of his order. On his last visit, about five months before, Gandalf had told Frodo about Saruman's continued obsession with becoming evil. "The best way of dealing with Saruman," Gandalf had said, "is to humour him." Frodo prepared to do just that.  
  
"Greetings, Saruman the white," he said, jumping down from the tree in which he had been sitting. Saruman peered at him with incomprehension. He seemed to be having difficulty getting him in focus. Finally he stood up, and walked towards Frodo groggily.  
  
"Mwahahahaha! I am Saruman the white no longer!" he said, his speech slurred, "Now I am Saruman the orange and lil...the Evil! You are the weakest link! Goodbye!" He then lost consciousness, and lay face down on the ground for several minutes. Then he sprang to his feet. Brandishing an umbrella at Frodo, he began chanting nonsense magical words.  
  
"Abracadabra! Hocus-Pocus! Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"  
  
Frodo had had enough, and began backing away from Saruman's incoherent rambling.  
  
He reached the door of Bag End and slipped inside.  
  
"Sam," he shouted, "Do you think you could come and help?"  
  
"What is it?" came Sam's voice.  
  
"It's Saruman, and I'm afraid he's flipped."  
  
"In what way, flipped?" said Sam, as he appeared from round a corner.  
  
"Well, he's wearing a kid's Hallowe'en costume, he seems to be having extreme difficulty talking and standing, and he's going round threatening people with an umbrella. I think we can be fairly certain that his sanity has gone AWOL."  
  
"That sounds bad, Mr. Frodo. What should we do."  
  
"Well, I think he's probably to incapacitated to be a danger to any hobbits. He's actually more of a danger to himself. We'd best get him to a good psychiatrist."  
  
"I'll call Gandalf, too," said Sam.  
  
"Yes, but come and help me calm him down first."  
  
At that point several of Sam's small children came out of a nearby room.  
  
"What is it, Daddy?" they clamored.  
  
"Nothing you need to worry about, just a mad wizard," said Sam over his shoulder, as he left. 


	6. To Rivendell

Sorry about the delay with this chapter. First I went to Hungary for a week, then I got ill, then I developed a severe case of writer's block. This chapter is a bit short, and nothing much happens, but the next one will be longer, I promise. Meanwhile please keep the reviews coming (I want to get more than Snowling. She has 83 or something like that at the moment, so it's not very likely, but I can dream, can't I?). :)  
  
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No-one knew quite what was to be done with Saruman. What could you do with an Istari who had finally completely flipped after years of threatening to do so? It would have been better if he had been quietly insane; at least then they would have been able to put him in a tower and forget about him, or stuck him on a boat heading West (nobody noticed if you were mad over there). But Saruman seemed determined to make a nuisance of himself, and he could not be allowed to go around terrorizing hobbits (or, more accurately, trying to terrorize them, since none seemed to be very scared).  
  
He had been staying at the local hospital, a couple of miles away from Hobbiton. He had calmed down slightly, and was more coherent, but he still believed he was evil, and kept trying to get passing hobbits to swear allegiance to him. This request was normally greeted with wild hilarity, and although not a single hobbit had so far agreed, it was clear that Saruman could not be allowed to remain in the Shire, and eventually it was decided that he should be taken to Rivendell. Elrond was the best psychiatrist for miles.  
  
A small party set out to go with Saruman, since he was clearly not capable of getting there himself. This consisted of Gandalf, Frodo, and also Merry and Pippin, who both said that they wanted to see Rivendell again (Sam had decided that leaving Rose at home with their thirteen children while he went off on a long journey would probably result in divorce). By the end of their first day of travelling, Saruman had tried to escape twice, Gandalf had lost his temper with Pippin five times (Pippin had been repeating the phrase "Are we nearly there yet?" at two-minute intervals throughout the day) and Merry, who insisted he was an excellent cook but in fact didn't know which way up a frying-pan went, had succeeded in burning their breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, tea and supper. The result of this was that Frodo was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, everyone was very hungry, thirsty, tired and fed up, and they had only just got out of the Shire. They decided to spend the night in Bree, but the Prancing Pony was closed for refurbishment, so they ended up pitching a couple of tents on a cold hill overlooking the village. Gandalf was trying to get a fire going. Saruman was sitting nearby insisting that he was so evil that he would start a fire by simply looking at the wood. Gandalf was saying that this was completely impossible. A heated argument (in both senses of the word, as Gandalf's beard caught fire) ensued. Frodo watched from a distance.  
  
"This is worse than the Quest," he said to Merry, who wasn't listening. Frodo said it again.  
  
"Oh, I don't know about that," replied Merry. "There were some rough spots here and there. Like that time the Ring somehow ended up in a salami sandwich, and Gimli almost ate it, remember? And when Aragorn fell out of that tree in Lorien. Oh, and there were all the orcs in Moria and..."  
  
Frodo interrupted him: "Yes, and I didn't enjoy Mordor particularly either, but the point I was making was that at least we weren't all arguing continuously and we had someone along with us who could cook."  
  
At that point terrified screams began to emanate from Pippin's tent, so Merry was not able to reply. He shouted "What is it, Pip?"  
  
"Merry! Help! There's a huge great spider in here and it's looking at me!" was Pippin's reply.  
  
"Oh, Eru, not spiders as well!" said Frodo, and fainted.  
  
*******  
  
The journey continued in a similar fashion. Saruman was insane. Gandalf was quick-tempered and pompous. Merry spoiled the food. Pippin whined. Frodo fainted. Everyone was in a bad mood and wanted a bath. In the end it took them six weeks to reach Rivendell, because Gandalf's shortcuts kept getting them lost. The day after they arrived Saruman went for his first session with Elrond. 


	7. A session with Elrond the psychiatrist

A/N: I think it's been about four months since I posted a chapter of this, so I apologise for the delay. It wasn't even writer's block, just complete laziness, which was followed by a hell of a lot of exams. To recap, in case you've forgotten what was happening and don't want to read the whole thing again: Saruman, who wants to be evil but isn't very good at it, has had lessons from Sauron in Mordor, on the condition that he gets half of whatever kingdoms Saruman conquers. Sauron has had no luck teaching him the basic principles of evilness, but was so fed up of Saruman that he sent him off to conquer the Shire anyway. After a stressful journey, Sauron arrived in the Shire and attempted to conquer it, to no avail. He was apprehended by hobbits and taken to Rivendell by a party composed of Gandalf, Frodo, Merry and Pippin, to be hopefully cured of his evilness Elrond the psychiatrist. That takes us up to this chapter. Someone in a review suggested that Elrond could inadvertently succeed in teaching Saruman to be evil where Sauron had failed. I've adapted that idea a little for this chapter. This author's note is getting so long, it'll soon exceed the length of the actual chapter so I'll shut up now. :)  
  
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Chapter 7  
  
As psychiatrists go, Elrond was not a good one, but he was the only one for miles around, which meant that he did very good business, and also meant that his rates were sky-high. Because of his constant stream of clients (which included Gollum, Radagast, Celeborn, and numerous other Lorien elves), Elrond believed himself to be excellent at curing the mentally unstable of Middle-Earth. He regularly claimed that no patient of his ever needed a second session with him; one was always enough to cure them. It didn't occur to him that this was probably because they all hated him so much they preferred to be insane, depressed or suicidal for the rest of their lives rather than endure Elrond's treatment.  
  
Saruman was not being terribly responsive to Elrond's technique - in fact, he just wasn't co-operating.  
  
"Saruman," began Elrond, in what he hoped was a reasonable, pleading sort of voice. There was no reply from Saruman, who was lying on the couch with his arms folded. Elrond tried again:  
  
"Saruman, won't you just listen to me?" he said more sternly. Saruman stuck his fingers in his ears and began to sing very tunelessly.  
  
"Saruman, you aren't going to gain anything by behaving like a little child. Now, I'm going to stay right here until you agree to talk to me." Saruman stuck his tongue out at Elrond and clamped a cushion over his head (a/n. Saruman's head, not Elrond's). Elrond sat down in a chair to wait.  
  
Five hours later, he was still waiting. The cushion was still over Saruman's head, and Elrond was feeling very fed up and very hungry. He decided that patience just wasn't going to work, and realised it was time to resort to threatening.  
  
"Saruman!" he exclaimed, "If you don't talk to me, I'll...I'll...I'll break your staff in half! I'll have a troop of elves go over to the tower of Orthanc and paint it with polka-dots! I'll shoot your pony and serve it for Sunday lunch!"  
  
That worked. Saruman couldn't bear the thought of his long-suffering, zebra- striped pony getting killed and eaten, although the animal was rather temperamental, fussy, and generally not very nice. He reluctantly removed the cushion from his head and fixed Elrond with what he hoped was an evil and terror-inducing glare. It did not have the desired effect, as Elrond thought Saruman was smiling at him. However, Saruman didn't know that, and he resolved to co-operate, albeit sulkily.  
  
Elrond put the tips of his fingers together, and regarded Saruman over the top of them. "Now," he said, and then spent several seconds searching for a good word to say next. The search was fruitless, so he said "Now" again, and then smiled in a knowing sort of way, hoping to give the impression that he had just made an enlightening discovering concerning Saruman's mental health. He nodded to anyone who was watching, hummed a tuneless tune, scratched the end of his long, pointed Elven nose and rearranged some stray hair braids. He suddenly remembered why he was there. Saruman was looking at him as though *he* was the one who needed psychiatric care. He straightened his back, and thought of some words to come after "Now".  
  
"Now then, Saruman, I was wondering if you could give me the philosophy behind your recent, umm, attempts at being evil. You know the sort of things, what inspired you, your feelings about it, whether it was connected to your childhood in any random way, all the sorts of things that psychiatrists normally go on about. Take your time...no, on second thoughts, don't, there's a big party tonight in honour of some unspecified Maia's birthday, and I want to make sure I have time to wash my hair between now and then."  
  
Saruman scowled, but began to speak. "Well," he said, slowly, "it wasn't any specific event which inspired me. The idea just came to me one night when I was reading the paper. It hit me, just like that. I suddenly thought, here I am, spending all my time doing charity functions, helping old hobbits across the road, doing the crossword. When I either finally die, or decide to sail West, no-one's going to remember me for more than about ten days. But then, if I establish myself as a figure of menace, and have vast armies and hoards of adoring subjects, even when I die, my memory will live for ever. Like Melkor."  
  
"Who?" said Elrond, then, "Just kidding. But Saruman, haven't you read the Silmarillion, the Histories of Middle-Earth? The bad guys in there invariably suffer painful, humiliating deaths at the hands of numerous elves and humans. There are no exceptions. Becoming evil is like signing your own death warrant."  
  
"So is being good! Take Frodo, for example. He's gone on a long, gruelling quest, delivered the ring to Mount Doom, at great personal cost, been attacked, nearly eaten, impaled on various items and now, quite frankly, the poor guy's a wreck. Nerves as fragile as anything. You only have to sneak up behind him and say, "My precioussss," in his ear, and he jumps about a mile into the air and is out cold for the next three days. He's ill twice a year, he gets no recognition at all, he's practically raving mad, and when he finally does sail West, the memory of him will last about six months, and then no-one will even know he existed. All this for what?"  
  
"Ummm, for the continued safety and happiness of the peoples of Middle- earth?"  
  
"They should have got an elf to do it. And there's another example: Elves. They've spent all their time in Middle-earth helping people, and sacrificing themselves nobly, and being generally obnoxiously good, and what's happening to them? They're all going west, and given a couple of years, no-one will ever even recall what they were. I mean, Galadriel, for instance: "I will diminish and go into the west, and remain yaddayaddaya." If she'd just been evil from the start, she wouldn't have to worry about all that. No, Elrond, you can try as hard as you like, but nothing is going to convince me that being good is better than being evil."  
  
Elrond had been listening to all this with increasing interest and thoughtfulness. He now sat silently for a few seconds before saying absent- mindedly, "OK, Saruman, we'll leave it there for today, come back tomorrow. I'll see you at the party tonight." Saruman got up and left, and Elrond continued to sit at the desk, apparently lost in thought. At length, a distinctly evil smile spread slowly over his face.  
  
A/N: Well, it took me so long to get this chapter up that I think it would be slightly hypocritical to expect reviews, but if you do have the time, reviews would be very nice. ;) 


	8. A Party in Rivendell

A/N: Chapter eight, in which there is a party in Rivendell, and Elrond makes an announcement. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed chapter seven. If anyone has any ideas about which way the plot should go next, please tell me. If you like this, you might also like my other fic, Back to the Present, which is also humorous and also centred around an evil character (Sauron). Evil characters are so much easier to write about than good ones, don't you find? :)  
  
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Chapter 8  
  
  
  
The Rivendell Elves were notably less highbrow than the Lorien and Mirkwood ones (this probably had something to do with the fact that Elrond was only half Elven), and they were famous for throwing noisy and chaotic parties, which generally resulted in all participants having shocking hangovers for the next three days. However, everyone who attended always said that it was worth it, so the parties continued at regular intervals, almost every month.  
  
That night's party was no exception, and the Rivendell staff had spent the past week preparing. The huge main hall of Imladris was completely unrecognisable: sheets had been hung around the walls to protect the fragile artwork, streamers hung from the ceiling, and there was a large rotating mirror ball suspended in the middle of the room, temporarily replacing the ornate chandelier which was normally there. At one end of the hall was a long table, on which stood innumerable bottles of Mirkwood's finest wine (the one with the highest volume of alcohol). At the other end were a pair of gigantic speakers, connected to a record player.  
  
Elrond walked through the hall an hour before the party was due to begin. To all who saw him, he looked almost exactly the same as he always did, but if they'd stopped to examine him closer, they would have detected a certain air about him, a strange glint to his eyes which had not been there before, and a way of walking which seemed somehow more cold, more calculating. However, no-one did and no-one noticed, until later on.  
  
  
  
The assembled company who were at Rivendell at that time comprised some 100 Elves, assorted humans, and of course three hobbits and two wizards. These latter sat in a corner, sipping glasses of the potent wine, and talking quietly, feeling out of place. Frodo actively disliked parties and avoided them, Saruman, who had led rather a sheltered existence, thought that the only form of party was a formal sit-down dinner, such as the ones his parents had once given, and Gandalf possessed a unique ability to enter a lively party which was going with a swing and proceed to empty the room of people within a surprisingly short period of time, by telling boring anecdotes in an obscure dialect of Quenya. Gandalf had ruled that the party was not suitable for Pippin, and had sent him early to bed. Merry was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Where has Merry got to?" asked Frodo.  
  
"Dancing," said Gandalf, pointing out the hobbit, who was in the middle of a line of Elves doing the Macarena. Frodo rolled his eyes, then said,  
  
"What's the point of us being here? I hate parties. Saruman hates parties. Parties hate *you*, Gandalf, if you'll excuse me saying so. Nobody'll miss us if we leave."  
  
Gandalf looked up from his beard, which he had been plaiting thoughtfully.  
  
"I know, Frodo, but Elrond said he had an announcement to make and specifically requested that we be here. Said it was important."  
  
"Well, I hope he'll get on and make it soon, while everyone's still sober enough to understand what he's saying," said Frodo. Right on cue, Elrond jumped up onto a crate of wine, waving a hand to the DJ to make him cut off the music. Elrond silenced the crowd with another careless wave of his hand.  
  
"Right," he said briskly, "I have a Very Important Announcement to make, and I'm going to make it now, while you're all still capable of basic brain processes such as speech and language comprehension. Now, I don't know if you've all met Saruman yet - stand up and wave to the people, Saruman - there he is! Give it up for Saruman, everyone, he's a very good friend of mine." ("Am I?" said Saruman, bemused) Elrond continued, "Well, earlier I was talking to Saruman, and he introduced me to a very revolutionary new way of thinking. It had just never occurred to me before. But today, I saw the light. I now understand the meaning of my life, my vocation. I am no longer the benevolent psychiatrist you all know and love. I am now...ELROND THE EVIL!"  
  
The crowd gasped, and then laughed and began to applaud. It was clear to them that Elrond had had one too many already, and there were shouts from some of the Elves. Elrond, observing that he was not being taken seriously, raised both hands above his head and shouted, "Why are you laughing, you...you....you foolish vermin! You ought to be trembling in your boots! Repent now, or it will be too late. I, in my might and wrath will strike you down like so many dominoes. All shall fall down to worship me!" By this point most of the listening company were lying on the floor, unable to move, because of their laughter. Even Gandalf and Frodo were smiling. Saruman, however, was looking sympathetic.  
  
Elrond continued shouting for some minutes. He would probably have gone on all night, but luckily, one of his extravagantly gesturing hands caught the mirror ball, and it came crashing down on his head, knocking him out. There was a short pause while three of the more sober Elves carried him out of the room and deposited him unceremoniously on the cold stone floor, and then the party continued much as before. When Elrond came round, he did not go back into the party, but instead lay on the floor and muttered under his breath. Of the all the outcomes of his announcement he had considered, he had not even thought of the possibility: that they just would not believe him. But he would teach them not to defy the dark lord of Rivendell. Oh yes, he would teach them alright. 


	9. A False Sense of Sanity

FINALLY, an update. I haven't written anything for this fic since about July. I'm really, really sorry if anyone actually is, like, searching avidly every day to see if I've done anything new, but I doubt that quite seriously (and I'm rarely serious about anything). Nobody made any suggestions about possible plot directions, so I've just written a chapter in which... (drumroll)... nothing much happens. Well, it was either that or revise, and I really don't want to pass my exams or anything ;). Anyway, hope you enjoy, let me know what you think.  
  
Chapter 9  
  
The morning after the party at Rivendell, the only being, human or otherwise, who was stirring throughout the building was Gandalf. He rose from his bed at the crack of dawn, and made his way down the corridor. So preoccupied was he that he temporarily forgot what stairs were, and how one normally dealt with them. He remembered pretty soon afterwards, however, as he lay at the bottom of them, rubbing a battered elbow and crawling after his hat, the point of which was now bent in on itself completely. Having got to his feet again, he picked his way disdainfully across the marble halls, which were liberally scattered with catatonic elves. The main hall was a total wreck, and Gandalf mentally thanked every deity he could think of, including himself, that Arwen was not present to yell herself hoarse at Elrond, since he probably would not survive the experience.  
  
Elrond's apparent switch to the dark side was a matter of some concern to Gandalf, as well as being frankly rather amusing. With Saruman, it had been less surprising, since Saruman had been verging on the slightly- mad-to-completely-stark-staring-loony for aeons. But Elrond was a big suprise, and Gandalf needed to speak to someone with slightly more wisdom than Merry, Frodo, or (God forbid) Pippin. He made his way into the library and picked up the phone. He noted without surprise that the number he wanted was on speed dial.  
  
Galadriel of Lothlorien was doing yoga when her phone went off with that irritating little ditty known unimaginatively as "Nokia Tune" (AN: Don't ask how nokia got into middle earth. I figure that, with nokia's profits, and the all-pervading ring tones, time travel isn't far away for their products. But the day I go to, say, the antarctic, and hear a phone going off is the day I move planet. Sorry, going off on a tangent here....). Anyway, Galadriel answered the phone, and was surprised to hear Gandalf's voice.  
  
"Y'hello?"  
  
"Galadriel? Ah, hello Glad, it's Gandalf here."  
  
"Gandalf! This is a pleasant...well, a surprise, at least. What's up?"  
  
"Well, a few problems, I'm afraid. You know how Saruman recently went a little...umm, how to put it...."  
  
"Potty?"  
  
"Yes, 'potty'. Well, I'm sorry to say that Elrond's gone the same way."  
  
"He's done what now?"  
  
"He's decided that he is, from this time forth, evil."  
  
"Gandalf, is this April the first or something and I completely missed it?"  
  
"No, no, I'm serious I'm afraid. Course, the whole thing could have been a big joke."  
  
"Oh lordy. Well, what do you want me to do?"  
  
"Nothing, at present. I'll just see how things go from here. Of course, there is always the possibility that he'll get tired of it and give it up. Like all his previous obsessions."  
  
"Oh, like the tiddlywinks fanaticism. And the whole conceptual art thing. And the bungee-jumping phase."  
  
"Yes, I think that was my least favourite of them all. Having fallen many many thousands of feet from Khazad-Dum, and losing one of my lives in the process, I was less than amused when he kept banging on and on about the exhilarating nature of bungee- jumping. It's just a shame he didn't manage to get himself killed."  
  
"Yes, well, we can always hope, can we not? Maybe Sauron will think he's got a rival and finish him of for us?"  
  
"That would be excellent. Well, I'll be seeing you, Gandy, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Byee."  
  
She hung up. Gandalf put the phone down, unaware that Elrond was standing just behind the door, and listening on the extension. The first Gandalf saw of him was when he strode through the door, yawning and rubbing his hands together. Gandalf looked him up and down, then said,  
  
"Elrond, good morning. Look, that whole evil thing that you waxed eloquent about last night..."  
  
"Oh, Gandalf," replied Elrond, cheerfully, "don't you worry about that. I was completely sloshed, didn't know what I was saying. I thought it was a terrific joke at the time, although it doesn't seem very funny now."  
  
"Oh, well, thank Eru for that," said Gandalf, very much relieved, "You had me a tad worried for about eight hours there. I'm glad you were kidding. It is a ridiculous notion."  
  
"Ridiculous indeed. Me, of all people? I'm amazed you believe it even for a second."  
  
"Yes, it does seem a little stupid now. Well, if you don't need me at the present, I'll just be off to wash my beard."  
  
He sauntered off, feeling reassured. Elrond watched him go. A ridiculous notion indeed, which was why it was so brilliant. No-one would believe him until it was too late. And that idea of getting Sauron involved was actually not bad at all... 


End file.
